


The Price to Play

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Explicit Language, M/M, Out of Character, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Tragedy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-11
Updated: 2007-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 13:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation...This is aDarkfic, and not my usual. Tread with caution.





	1. Tickling

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Title** \- The Price to Play  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Potion_Lady - thank you doll!  
 **Rating** \- NC17  
 **Word Count** \- 1000  
 **Summary** \- The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Voldemort/Harry  
 **Warnings - Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Humiliation, Torture, Major Character Death, Evil!Ginny**  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot line, and make no money from this. It is done purely for fun, and no offence is intended by any scene depicted here.  
 **Author's Notes** \- Told using the prompts from my 5_kinks table, which can be found [here.](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/64451.html)

This is a **Dark** fic, and not my usual. Tread with caution.

 

 

All around him spells were going off, whistling through the air and destroying people, chipping off parts of Hogwarts and setting the grounds aflame. The night sky was alive with colour; sickly greens and vibrant reds, the Death Eaters' favourites – instant death or some torture first, if they thought you were worthy of it. It made Harry sick, but he couldn't stop to be upset; he had to fight. 

So he fought, defending the people he cared about, honouring his fallen comrades, avenging all that had been done to him in Voldemort's name. Hex after charm after hex after spell. Over and over again the words flowed from his mouth as the magic flowed from his wand, trying not to kill, trying not to sink to their level but sometimes it was the only option.

And sometimes it was just.

Hatred built inside him when he saw Bellatrix, and for her he pulled every bad memory, every funeral of a friend, every harsh word and indifferent attitude that had been shown him in 22 short years. Balling it up, he turned on her, allowing her a split second to see his face. Comprehension dawned, and he was strangely satisfied by the fear he found in her eyes. She looked as though she were stood at the gates of Hell, finally ready to meet her maker. 

Harry was her god.

He took her life from her with a venomously whispered word, sick satisfaction sweeping through him as she crumpled to the ground. That bitch had killed Sirius, and she deserved nothing more than total annihilation. Stepping over her as he continued through the battle, Harry spat down on her. Bitch.

His attention was caught by the snap of robes disappearing into the forest, and Harry went to give chase. He hadn't seen Voldemort here tonight, but if the bastard was here he'd be hiding until it became obvious his side had won. Much like the Light's nominal head was doing, tucked up in his office at the Ministry, ready to claim glory if Harry won. It was better that way, because Harry couldn't guarantee he wouldn't kill the Minister on sight and pass it off as friendly fire. 

Progressing deeper into the forest, Harry wasn't prepared for the charm when it came. Pink light made his vision hazy as he gasped and laughed, a thousand tiny feathers on every inch of his skin. He was defenceless, laughing breathlessly as he was tickled mercilessly. Of all the spells he could fight off, this was not one of them. He'd never even tried to. He liked this spell, liked his lover directing its effects to one area of Harry's body at a time, using it for foreplay. His mind couldn't control his body's ingrained reaction to prepare for his lover, and his cock hardened as he fell to the floor, gasping and wheezing.

The female Weasley had been the one to tell him of the spell, of the brat's love of it in sex, and his helplessness when faced by it. Voldemort had rewarded her well for that. It was so simple, so perfect. Destroy the boy's defences with a charm he'd never think of protecting himself against, and then kill him. 

That was the plan. Killing Harry Potter had been the plan for over twenty years.

But Voldemort was transfixed by the boy – the man – he'd been so hell bent on killing. Compact and powerful, he was all smooth, tan skin and hard muscles. He was lean and beautiful, with those green eyes so like the one’s that had begged for his life that fateful night. And he was writhing on the ground, the bulge in his trousers an unwanted effect of the spell, Voldemort was sure, but an intriguing one none the less. 

Watching him, seeing the way he moved and gasped, stirred Voldemort's desires deep inside him. Briefly, he wondered about the sense of keeping the boy alive; he had after all destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes. Even the faithful Nagini had been slaughtered by a traitor in the midst who died a slow and painful death. Though, had the younger Malfoy not killed her, Voldemort would not have thought to check on his other Horcruxes, and would not have discovered them all destroyed.

It was a risk, but keeping Harry alive seemed like the greatest idea he'd ever had. His prick twitched at the thought of breaking Harry, of destroying him physically and emotionally. Of letting the Wizarding World see their Golden Boy become a used up whore before he was killed.

Smirking, he concentrated the spell on Harry's groin, watching pleasure and defiance battle on the brunette's features before pleasure won over. His body jerked and writhed on the muddy floor as orgasm took him over, wave after wave of pleasure granted because Voldemort had allowed it. 

Letting up the charm, Voldemort kept his wand trained on Harry as he summoned the brunette's wand over and pocketed it slowly.

"Fucking…coward…"

A swift Crucio punished Harry for that indiscretion, and Voldemort smiled predatorily. "Yes, Harry, I will be."

His brain couldn't process the words, and Harry just looked blankly at Voldemort as he tried to work out what to do. "You're going to die, you bastard!"

"I think not, Harry. I have your wand, and have you on your back at my feet."

Seeing the hopelessness of the situation, Harry felt the fight begin to leave him. "Then kill me! Quit fucking around!" 

An evil smile spread over Voldemort's face, and Harry felt his soul freeze at the sight. "Again, Harry, I will be _fucking around_ as you so loquaciously put it. Any one can wave a wand and say a spell, Harry. I intend to find out just how strong you truly are."

Hexing him unconscious and bound, Voldemort called off his Death Eaters with a touch to his forearm, and grabbed the brunette's limp body before Apparating to his Manor, and the beginning of the end for Harry Potter.


	2. Stripping

**Title** \- The Price to Play  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Potion_Lady - thank you doll!  
 **Rating** \- NC17  
 **Word Count** \- 1000  
 **Summary** \- The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Voldemort/Harry  
 **Warnings - Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Humiliation, Torture, Character Death, Evil!Ginny, Forced Stripping**  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot line, and make no money from this. It is done purely for fun, and no offence is intended by any scene depicted here.  
 **Author's Notes** \- Told using the prompts from my 5_kinks table, which can be found [here.](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/64451.html)

This is a **Dark** fic, and not my usual. 

 

 

Harry had no idea how long he'd been there. He'd tried to measure time by the stubble on his chin, but after three days he'd begun to wake up clean shaven. There was no human contact at all for so very long, and when it did come, in the shape of four burly Death Eaters, Harry had no idea whether he'd been in captivity a week, a month, or a year. He was dragged through winding hallways, up steep steps and finally through a set of ominous looking double doors. 

His eyes widened in fear as he saw the assembled Death Eaters stood in neat rows. Voldemort was sat on a throne situated on a raised dais, smirking as Harry was dragged toward him. Lack of use meant his voice was good for nothing but near-silent mumbles of protest, and Harry was too weak to protect himself from the fall when he was tossed at Voldemort's feet.

"Aaah, our guest of honour has arrived! How humbled we all are to be in your presence, O Hero of the Light!"

The Death Eaters laughed at Voldemort's cold, mocking tone, and Harry trembled as he lay on the floor. He was terrified.

"Now, Mr Potter. I think we will begin with a reminder. Crucio!"

White hot needles piercing straight through him, setting his insides on fire and ripping each layer of skin and muscle from the ones around it. A few seconds before it was gone, but those seconds lasted lifetimes, and left Harry sobbing on the floor, his fingers bloody where he'd clawed at the stone floor.

"Keep that pain in mind, Mr Potter. Should you refuse to do as I ask, or not do it quick enough, that pain will return until you learn. Do you understand?"

Harry trembled, but apparently he was supposed to speak, because the pain came back and his voice cracked into a silent scream. It lasted longer this time, taking him right to the edge of consciousness before easing away. 

"Do you understand?"

"Y~yes."

"Good boy. Perhaps you are not as stupid as I was led to believe. Very well, let me see the spoils of war that are due to me. Strip."

Harry's head snapped up in confusion, and he flinched as Voldemort raised his wand threateningly. "Stand up and strip. I will not ask again."

Getting shakily to his feet, Harry raised his head and met blood red eyes. He couldn't escape this, so he had to try and survive this. His lover wouldn't leave him here to rot, he just had to survive. Refusing to look away, refusing to blink, Harry whispered croakily, "Please."

Tossing his head back, Voldemort laughed. The other Death Eaters laughed too, false and sycophantic, stopping abruptly as soon as Voldemort snapped his head forwards again. "Are you begging me, Harry Potter?"

"Please, not here."

"But you'll strip in private?"

Harry didn't answer that, but Voldemort seemed too lost in musings to punish him. Finally, he steepled his fingers and spoke softly. "I think not. You will remove your clothes, or Fenrir will do it for you. He's rather fond of ripping clothes off with his teeth, and it is rather close to the full moon. You may, of course, take your chances that he won't infect you."

Harry's eyes flicked to the side, following the excited growl that led him to Greyback. One look was all it took, and Harry's fingers slid, trembling, to the tattered hem of his tee shirt. He hadn't been given new clothes while he was here, and what he wore still bore the dirt and blood of the last battle. 

The room was deathly silent as he stripped, the Death Eaters watching him avidly. Harry's eyes were wet, and as he pushed his boxers over his hips, the first tears fell, followed by many others. He stood, trembling and crying, buck naked as Voldemort looked him over. Harry wanted to cover himself, but subconsciously he knew that it would just bring him more pain. 

Finally, Voldemort seemed satisfied with what he saw. Harry thought he'd be allowed some respite, but he could not have anticipated what happened next. Quick as a flash, Voldemort had pulled his wand out and cast a body bind on Harry, manipulating him so his legs were apart and he was bent at the waist. Harry's tears fell harder, fear and shame colouring his cheeks, but his mouth was sealed shut and he couldn't make a sound. 

He felt rustling fabric, and then a cool finger was shoved roughly inside him. His mind's voice screamed, and Harry retched, unable to open his mouth to expel the bile. He started to choke, and it must have been noticed because the spell was altered over his mouth, allowing his mouth to open but not allowing him to move about. Bile splashed to the floor, and as Harry couldn't close his eyes he had no choice but to look at it as the finger inside him probed roughly.

He was touched everywhere, and he recognised some of the muttered spells as diagnostic ones. He could hear heavy breathing, knew that the Death Eaters were getting off on this, and he was sick twice more before all contact left his skin and the bind was released, startling him and causing him to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. 

Reflexively, Harry curled in on himself and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the tears but desperate to shut out this hellish reality. A silky voice broke through his haze.

"He is fit to be broken, my Lord."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

It became routine. Every meeting, Harry was taken to the front and forced to strip. Every meeting he was bent and bound and left open to the slaps and pinches of the Death Eaters. Displayed like a piece of meat, every time he lifted the hem of his tattered tee shirt over his head, Harry felt his resolve break a little bit more.


	3. Piercing

**Title** \- The Price to Play  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Potion_Lady - thank you doll!  
 **Rating** \- NC17  
 **Word Count** \- 1000  
 **Summary** \- The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Voldemort/Harry  
 **Warnings - Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Humiliation, Torture, Character Death, Evil!Ginny, Piercing**  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot line, and make no money from this. It is done purely for fun, and no offence is intended by any scene depicted here.  
 **Author's Notes** \- Told using the prompts from my 5_kinks table, which can be found [here.](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/64451.html)

This is a **Dark** fic, and not my usual. Tread with caution.

 

 

It had been the same routine for weeks now. Harry was left completely alone in his cell to stare at the walls for most of the day. Then, at the daily meetings, he'd be taken out and subjected to his ritualised humiliation. But this morning things were different. He could feel it in the air, hear it in the baited breath of the bastard vultures that fed off of his humiliation. Balling his hands into fists to stop them trembling, Harry awaited the barked _'Strip'_ that would begin his daily degradation. 

The silence stretched out, deafening in his ears, as Voldemort considered him carefully. The longer the older wizard watched, the more Harry shook, and soon he could hear his teeth chattering with the force of his trembling. Finally, when the silence was excruciating, Voldemort spoke. "Take him to the room."

That was it, and Harry gaped in shock as he was dragged away again. But they didn't turn back to his cell. Instead, his guard turned up the stairs and walked down a multitude of corridors until they came to a beautiful room at the top of the house. Harry could stare out of the windows and see the sunlight and sprawling grounds, and as the Death Eaters locked him in the room he dropped to his knees and sobbed.

Voldemort watched the man cry for a few minutes before he announced his presence. When Harry turned around he half-expected to see defiance in the jade eyes, but all Voldemort saw was pain.

"Please…"

He was sure that the young man had no idea what he was begging for, but Voldemort stepped forward regardless. "Please what, Harry? Please free you?"

A soft nod, and Voldemort let a cruel smirk twist his face. "Free you to what, Harry? You've been here two months. No one is coming for you. The Wizarding World has forgotten its feted hero." 

"No…"

The one word was dragged out on a sob and Voldemort smiled coldly. He was going to enjoy destroying Harry. Before he was through, he'd have the brunette begging for _him_ , and knowing it.

Snapping his wrist, he slammed shutters closed and plunged the room into darkness, and Harry's anguished cries echoed in his ears as he left the room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry began trembling when he saw the table set in front of Voldemort. Tossed in his usual spot by the madman's feet, Harry was ordered to stand and strip. He complied quickly and demurely, hoping that a show of subservience would save him whatever hell would come when he got on that table. As he shifted his boxers over his hips and let them fall to the floor, Voldemort spoke in a quiet, yet carrying, voice. "Lie on your back on the table."

"Please, no, I…"

"This will be much easier if you acquiesce."

It was the quietness of his voice that prompted Harry into obeying. Nothing that quiet and level from Voldemort could be a good thing. His chattering teeth were the only sound in the room, and Harry had the feeling that everyone else knew what would be happening to him. As soon as he was lay on the cold stone table, thick chains materialised and bound him into place. Tears fell silently down his head to be lost in the mess that was his hair. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry tried to find somewhere in his head that he could be safe, but that was getting harder and harder to do.

Rising from his seat, Voldemort stepped down off the raised dais and crossed to Harry's bound form. He could feel his own breath coming heavier, his heart rate increasing, and he phased out the watching crowd as he focused his attention on Harry. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Voldemort took out this morning's twist and held his closed fist over Harry's stomach. Slowly, he uncurled each finger, allowing the three silver snakes to fall onto Harry's stomach.

The brunette jerked his head up when he felt the light pressure on his stomach, and whimpered in both fear and confusion. As Voldemort spoke a hissing string of syllables, Harry's confusion was absolved and his fear intensified, his brain slipping into Parseltongue without registering it.

_"Pierce him, my little ones."_

_"No! Gods no, please!"_

No matter how much he pleaded, the silver snakes didn't stop. As two slithered up his body, one went down, coiling along his cock until it came to the head. Harry didn't want to watch, but he couldn't look away. The two that had moved up his chest poised at his nipples. Their tongues flicked out, needle sharp, and Harry tried to escape but there was no give in his bindings. 

Bending down, Voldemort let his tongue flick over the shell of Harry's ear, tasting fear in his sweat.

_"You'll scream for me. Pierce him."_

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Harry came to, he was in a room of such staggering beauty and elegance that it took his breath away and brought tears of joy to his eyes. Not caring about the price he was sure to pay for this, he stood up and flung himself at the bed, whimpering when a charm repelled him.

Climbing up off the floor, Harry approached the bed more cautiously. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't touch the bed. There was some kind of repellent charm that stopped him getting within six inches of touching it. Desperation and panic mounted as he moved around the room, unable to touch anything in the room except the door that led him into the bathroom. 

When he saw the steel bucket he knew what would happen, but still he tried to touch the large marble bath, the toilet, the sink, the healing potions that would ease the ache in his nipples and cock.

Heading back into the room, Harry slid down the wall and hugged his knees to his chest. Slowly, firmly, he began thudding his head back against the wall as his eyes took in the luxury that was out of his reach.


	4. Orgasm Denial

**Title** \- The Price to Play  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Potion_Lady - thank you doll!  
 **Rating** \- NC17  
 **Word Count** \- 1000  
 **Summary** \- The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Voldemort/Harry  
 **Warnings - Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Humiliation, Torture, Character Death, Evil!Ginny, Orgasm Denial**  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot line, and make no money from this. It is done purely for fun, and no offence is intended by any scene depicted here.  
 **Author's Notes** \- Told using the prompts from my 5_kinks table, which can be found [here.](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/64451.html)

This is a **Dark** fic, and not my usual. Tread with caution.

 

 

Voldemort stood looking though the magically enhanced wall, able to watch as Harry continued to bang his head against the wall in a slow rhythm. The brunette had been at it for a week, when he wasn't in the meetings showing off his decorated body. The part of wall he leant against changed, depending on where he was tossed at the end of each meeting, and Voldemort had forbidden the House Elves to clean the room. He liked the stains of blood and knew they were an extra source of torment to the brunette.

The female Weasley had questioned the cruelty of his punishment, which had led to this morning's performance; Harry bound and silenced as Ginny was killed for her treachery. That explained the tears running down his cheeks now, the added force with which his head hit the wall.

Smirking, Voldemort turned to his faithful Lucius and nodded. No words were needed; his right hand man knew it was time for the next game to begin.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry was taken to a dining room and sat down at a long table. A vial of healing potion sat next to a sumptuous meal, but Harry didn’t dare touch it. He didn't move or look around when he heard Voldemort's voice, smooth and clear like a running stream.

"You can have this meal in exchange for one thing."

The silence stretched out until Harry answered, "What?"

"The shielding charm on the meal requires an offering, of sorts, to be countered. The snakes will help you."

Harry moaned as the piercings began to wiggle and vibrate, his body responding automatically, and the humiliated tears started. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

And so it went on. He had to earn his necessities by whoring himself for the Dark Lord. The bed had required a full afternoon of holding himself open for Voldemort and whichever Death Eaters had been permitted to be in attendance, while he himself was denied release. He'd been so repulsed that he'd tried to stay on the floor, but the ache in his body, radiating from his arse, urged him to lay upon the soft mattress even as he howled with shame and anguish. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Please! Fuck, please!"

Harry twisted in his restraints, desperately trying to find friction for his needy cock. The tight bindings around his sac and the base of his prick had been in place all afternoon, and he was almost insane with the need to come. A long, pointed fingernail scraped along the fat vein, and Harry whimpered helplessly. "Please…"

"You've earned your necessities this week. You've earned the luxury of a book and some sweet wine. You have nothing to gain here, Harry."

"Don't care. Please…please…"

"What do you want?"

"Fuck me. Please…fuck me and let me come."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

From there it was so simple, so easy to turn Harry into the broken little cock-slut that now knelt at Voldemort's feet. Once his mind was shattered, it had been easy to rebuild him as a submissive little catamite, so eager to please. Slowly, surely, Voldemort taught Harry how to achieve his true potential. The brunette lived and died by the pleasure or pain meted out by Voldemort's hand. His rooms were moved next to Voldemort's, but that was in name only. In truth, Harry curled at the foot of his bed each night, waking him with kitten licks and a prepared and offered arse each morning.

His original plan to destroy the brunette was discarded, and as Voldemort finally granted pleasure after yet another afternoon session, he smiled at his beautiful little whore.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry curled in his own little bed and waited for his Master to return. His Master was away on business, but he'd promised to be home soon. His Master had instructed him to touch himself morning, noon and night, but he was not to come. The prick that belonged to his Master ached between his thighs, but he would not spill it without permission. It would upset his Master, and Harry would not do that.

He heard the door open and moved fluidly from his little cot to the floor, splaying his knees open and holding his hands behind his back, his head lowered submissively. Long fingers carded through his hair, tipping his head up and giving him permission to greet his Master. But when he met the gleaming red eyes, he felt a flash of hatred so strong it made him gasp.

Shoving the emotion back down, Harry chastised himself. This was his Master; he had no right to feel those emotions. He felt only what his Master permitted.

"Is all well, pet?"

Harry would not tell. He would not upset his Master after they had been apart so long. "Yes, my Master."

"Good. I see you have obeyed my orders, so you may choose how you are rewarded."

Taking his time to think properly about the gift offered him, Harry smiled beautifully up at his Master. "Will you take me to your bed, Master?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Straddling his Master's waist, Harry rose up and down on the prick splitting him open as cool fingers manipulated the rings in his cock and nipples. He'd been given permission to be as wanton as he liked, and he took full advantage, moaning long and loud, his fingers intertwining with his Master's to pinch and pull at cherry red nipples and stroke his aching shaft. As he closed his eyes and tossed his head back, Harry's mind was assaulted with the memory of being in this position, but it was a larger, stronger hand around his cock, a smoother voice in his ears.

Leaning forward, Harry panted as he looked down at his Master. Though his hair had grown long and thick and his features had become more human, his Master's eyes were still a deep, dangerous red. Harry held them, losing himself in them, allowing the colour to seep into every pore of his being. 

He did not know what these snatches of emotion and memory were, but he knew they were wrong. His place was with his Master and Harry leant further still, silently begging for a kiss as his world exploded with white-hot pleasure.


	5. Flogging

**Title** \- The Price to Play  
 **Author** \- SoftlySweetly  
 **Beta** \- Potion_Lady - thank you doll!  
 **Rating** \- NC17  
 **Word Count** \- 1000  
 **Summary** \- The Final Battle doesn't go as planned, and Harry finds himself at the mercy of his nemesis in a never-ending hell of pain and humiliation  
 **Characters/Pairings** \- Voldemort/Harry  
 **Warnings - Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Humiliation, Torture, Major Character Death, Evil!Ginny, Flogging, Graphic content,**  
 **Disclaimer** \- I own nothing but the plot line, and make no money from this. It is done purely for fun, and no offence is intended by any scene depicted here.  
 **Author's Notes** \- Told using the prompts from my 5_kinks table, which can be found [here.](http://softly-sweetly.livejournal.com/64451.html)

This is a **Dark** fic, and not my usual. Tread with caution. Seriously, this chapter has graphic and disturbing content. You have been warned.

 

 

_His head dropped forwards, and Harry screamed as the leather tails of the flogger bit into the soft skin of his thighs, due to his Master's addition; tiny little razors at the end of each tail. It hurt so badly; Harry could feel blood trickling down his body. But he'd broken the rules, he'd incited this. Every kiss of the leather reminded him that he deserved this._

_Finally, blessedly, he heard the flogger clatter to the floor, and then his Master walked to stand in front of him. He hated the look of disappointment in his Master's red eyes, but Harry's hands were bound to a suspension chain in the ceiling, and his legs clamped to the floor. He could not cover himself, could not hide his shame. His Master saw his tears and knew he was truly sorry._

_"Will you break my rules again?"_

_"No, Master…no…"_

_Finally his Master's eyes lost the edge, lost the devastating disappointment. "Then you have been punished enough."_

_Tears, so many tears, because he was truly grateful, and Harry whispered, "Thank you…thank you…"_

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

He knew he'd gone too far, but he didn't care. The body hung limp, the wrist cuffs slowly rubbing through layers of flesh to file away at pale white bone. But still he brought the flogger crashing down, ignorant of the blood that spattered over his hair and the surrounding dungeon. Great, gaping wounds decorated the lifeless body, and the mess on the floor didn't bear thinking about, but still he kept pulling his arm back and snapping the leather forwards.

He'd broken the rules.

The signal of the wards going off didn't reach into the dungeons, and wouldn't have stopped him if they had. It didn’t matter anymore, right and wrong, Light and Dark, winning and losing. They all lost in the end, and he had broken the rules.

When the Aurors crashed into the dungeon they stared in horror at the mutilated body hanging in shackles. When the wards on the house had fallen, they'd hoped that   
Voldemort was finally dead, and with him the protections they had been unable to bypass even after six months of work. But none of them had expected to find their Saviour alive, let alone naked and blood spattered; his eyes vacant as he moved the flogger in a dull rhythm.

A whispered word and the flogger vanished from Harry's hand, though it took him a dozen or so swings of his arm to register this. When he finally looked at his hand in confusion, then up at the other people in the room, each and every Auror saw the final tenuous strand of sanity snap as Harry fell unconscious to the floor. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Kingsley wrapped his arms tighter around himself, even though it made him look weak. He was weak. He hadn't been able to break the wards, or infiltrate the Manor where Harry had been held captive for almost six months. He hadn't been able to erase the smell of rotting flesh, or the sight of a body dead for almost two days hanging in chains, from his mind. 

And he hadn't been able to save Harry. 

Ginny had betrayed his lover, and Voldemort had kept Severus' leash so tight that he hadn't been able to do anything himself. But those were just excuses, because Kingsley had still failed to save Harry.

From what the Healers could tell, something small, a remembered touch or word, had triggered an explosive reaction in the young man. The damage inflicted on him by Voldemort had only fed his anger, and his mind had broken free of the delusion it had been systematically tortured into. No match for the enraged and unhinged man, Voldemort had finally lost his life; having never thought that he would need to make more Horcruxes, having been so sure Harry was broken and his.

That'd been a year ago, and there was no change in Harry. Though he was awake, he may as well have been catatonic for the reactions he showed. The Healers were hopeful that he'd have a similar magical outburst, that if his magic could give the first push, then he could be helped, and be saved. So Kingsley came here every day, hoping that it would be the day a touch or a word prompted Harry into remembering him.

But it never was.

Opening the door, Kingsley headed into the padded room and moved to sit down next to Harry. The brunette never once broke the steady thud of his head against the wall he leant on, and Kingsley inhaled deeply before beginning his usual monologue. Legs in front of him and hands flat on his thighs, Kingsley told the story of the first time they'd fallen into bed together. 

As he spoke, he didn't notice the tan fingers inching closer to him until they twined with his own. Though no other sign was present, and the rhythm of Harry's thudding head hadn't skipped a beat, Kingsley felt tears stream down his cheeks. Flexing his fingers around Harry's, he smiled gently.

"My Harry."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The call from Mungo's woke him, and as Kingsley Apparated in he felt dread engulf him. He heard the Healer's words in snippets _'…magical outburst…locked the doors…too fast to stop…so sorry…your loss…'_ but they made no sense to him.  
Stepping into the room he saw the words first, stuffing leaking out of the padded tiles but not obscuring the slashed-in words.

_I remembered, now I must forget._

And then his eyes were moving away, to the centre of the room. Kingsley sank slowly to the floor, leaning back against the wall as loss and grief and despair raped his soul over and over again, to the rhythm of the body swinging from the transfigured noose.

His head dropped back against the wall, again and again, finding the same steady rhythm that Harry's had, that Kingsley had listened to every day; that his lover's body swung to.


End file.
